


Avuncular

by Belphegor



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Babysitting, Disaster uncles, Family, Fluff and Humor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belphegor/pseuds/Belphegor
Summary: In which Alex is a mischievous toddler, Ardeth has something on his mind, and Jonathan almost decides that the ultimate book on correct uncle-ing might be worth more than the Book of Amun-ra. Almost.
Relationships: Ardeth Bay & Jonathan Carnahan, Jonathan Carnahan & Alex O'Connell
Comments: 17
Kudos: 32





	Avuncular

**Author's Note:**

> One of the things I liked best about TMR is Jonathan as an uncle, and his relationship with Alex. And now that I’m an aunt (my eldest nephew is 6 and well on his way to be as inquisitive and enthusiastic as Alex), writing those two is a whole other level of delightful. So have a little story about a disaster uncle and his adventurous toddler nephew :o)
> 
> (This is dedicated to my fellow disaster aunts and uncles everywhere, as well as to Arthur, Éloïse, Noé, and Colas. May you drive me crazy and make me burst with love for as long as possible.)

_Umm El Qaʻāb, Egypt, February 1929_

  
  


A tomb was no place for a small child, Evy had said, and Jonathan agreed wholeheartedly. So did Rick, who, despite admitting that the necropolis felt nowhere as evil and dangerous as Hamunaptra had, was still unwilling to bring Alex inside.

Especially after what Evy had said about the human sacrifices.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘human sacrifices’?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, darling, it’s not like that,” said Evy lightly as she breezed along the ancient cemetery with the last of the diggers. “Pharaohs of the Early Dynastic Period were expected to have servants in the afterlife, so they killed people and animals as part of the funerary rituals. That stopped after the First Dynasty, though, and there is absolutely no record of any curse placed on them.”

To think the Bembridge Scholars had rejected her so many times on account of ‘inexperience in the field’. Like so many people, they’d seen a mousy, bookish girl and failed entirely to detect the force of nature behind the glasses and the frumpy clothes. Honestly, the lengths some people would go to ignore what was in front of them were astonishing, Jonathan thought. One look at ten-year-old Evy squinting at the Middle Demotic papyrus on the wall of their parents’ bedroom could have set them straight.

Hamunaptra had changed that state of things rather spectacularly. Evy – and by extension Rick and even Jonathan – was now courted not just by the Bembridge Scholars, but also by none other than the bloody British Museum. So when the opportunity of digging on the ancient necropolis of Abydos presented itself, Evy – and Rick, also by extension – had jumped at the call. Jonathan had tagged along, partly out of curiosity and partly because February in Upper Egypt was infinitely preferable to February in London. The weather when they’d left had just been miserable.

They had brought Alex, as well. Leaving him behind in England was simply out of the question.

But any dig site was full of hidden dangers, and half-dug tombs even more so, so Jonathan had half volunteered and half been volunteered to look after his nephew. Which was fine by him, really, as Alex was a cheerful child, not to mention inquisitive and quite bright for an almost-three-year-old. Besides, it also meant that he didn’t have to actually do any digging or directing diggers.

“What’s that?”

“A tent.”

“What’s that?”

“That _was_ a column – maybe there was a roof somewhere, but it’s long gone now.”

“No, Uncle Jon,” said Alex in a voice that was entirely too bossy for a toddler and brought back vivid memories of Evy at that age, “what’s _that_?”

He was pointing at a bas-relief on the decapitated column. Jonathan stepped closer and squinted at it.

“Let’s see… Oh, that’s Thoth – ibis-headed chap, god of things like wisdom, magic and science if I remember right. The Ancient Egyptians sure had a different definition of ‘bird-brained’, didn’t they?”

Alex scrunched up his face.

“‘Bird-brained’ is when you’re a… pillock?”

“That’s right!” Jonathan said, delighted. His nephew didn’t lack brains and had a good grasp on vocabulary. The next second, though, he frowned and asked, “Now where did you pick up _that_ word?”

Alex’s grin was an answer in itself. “Yesterday you said Mr Whitehead was a pillock.”

 _Oh, right_. The old wanker had had the audacity of going straight to Rick for orders, knowing perfectly that Evy was in charge of the whole operation. Rick had set him straight right away and given him the kind of glare that might have scared off Imhotep, and Jonathan, who had seen his sister deal with this kind of nonsense all her life, had put the boot in and added a vicious tongue-lashing.

Good thing Alex had only turned up for the end of it, or he might have heard a lot worse.

Alex wasn’t just smart; he also – unfortunately – had an unerring instinct for latching on to any kind of profanity and repeating it at the worst moment.

Fortunately, he was also easily distracted.

“What’s that?”

The “what’s that” game could last a long time, as Alex was curious about everything, and it was only his second trip to Egypt – and his first dig. The little tyke must not even remember seeing his first camel last year. There was rather a lot to see in the camp for a child and Alex’s wide eyes darted everywhere. Jonathan ambled around, his arms full of nephew, putting a name on everything Alex pointed a tiny finger at.

The questions were easy enough to answer. Maybe this uncle thing really wasn’t so difficult, after all.

Alex was a healthy, well-fed little boy, and every now and then Jonathan had to shift his weight in his arms and hitch him up a bit not to drop him. That had been Evy’s obsession at first.

“Put your fingers behind his head!”

“Careful, he might slip!”

“Here, let me take him –”

Not that Jonathan hadn’t been terrified before holding his first and so far only nephew for the first time, to tell the truth. But when he had finally picked up the newborn and settled him in the crook of his arm, holding him had just felt… right. Alex had been born a day or two after term; he had been a robust, round-cheeked baby, with nary a wrinkle, and his weight in Jonathan’s arms had been warm and reassuringly heavy. He hadn’t felt like a tiny draught might somehow break him, like the very few babies that had somehow found their way into Jonathan’s arms so far – including Evy, that first time their mother had let him hold his baby sister. But that might have been due to the fact that everybody had previously impressed upon him how much holding a baby was a tremendous responsibility for a five-year-old.

At some point he’d had enough and remarked to Evy, “Look, I know I might not be the most careful of fellows generally speaking, but _really_ , old mum. I never dropped you, did I?”

“So says _you_ ,” Evy muttered.

Rick had backed him up, to both siblings’ surprise. And then, of course, because being a father not only didn’t change some things but also exacerbated others, he had waited till Evy’s back was turned before looking at Jonathan right in the eye and saying, “Do _not_ drop him, though. Ever.” with frankly scary seriousness.

If it had been any other subject, Jonathan would have been happy to just gulp and nod. But he’d stared right back, somewhat peeved, and said, “You know I won’t.”

And then baby Alex had gurgled and half drooled, half vomited on his shoulder and the conversation had met a swift and definite end.

“What’s that, Uncle Jon?”

“Oh, that’s a camel. Stay well clear of it, they bite and they stink to high heaven.”

“Okay. What’s that?”

Alex was pointing at a tent again, and Jonathan was about to answer when he looked at the boy, who was squirming and sniggering like he’d made the funniest joke in the world.

“Oh dear, I don’t know,” he said airily. “I have no idea what it’s called. Could it be… a tree?”

“No!” squealed a delighted Alex, giggling at his own joke like only a three-year-old could. “It’s a tent!”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes!”

“Well,” said Jonathan, hitching him up again, “you know better, I’m sure.”

The sun was climbing in the sky and the temperatures with it. Jonathan spotted the large tent Evy used as general headquarters and made for it, eager for some shade if not exactly cool. The cloth was thick and they had added rugs and hefty blankets to keep the sun’s glare out. It wasn’t enough by a long shot, but it was better than nothing.

Jonathan was trying to remember the spot he’d buried his canteen in the sand to keep it cool when a voice behind him said, “Good morning, my friend.”

Goodness knew what prevented him from dropping Alex. As it was, he started badly enough to jolt the boy a little, and Alex gave a startled squeak.

“Good grief, Ardeth,” Jonathan gasped. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one day.”

Ardeth Bay grinned, making him wonder how much of these little scares were actually on purpose.

“That is not my intention, I assure you.”

“Yes, well… As long as you don’t enjoy scaring me half to death _too_ much. How’ve you been keeping since last time?”

“I’ve been well, thank you. Hamunaptra is quiet, but we still keep watch.”

“Nothing cursed about _this_ place, is there?” asked Jonathan with a touch – oh, just a smidge – of anxiety. “No malediction we should know about?”

Ardeth shook his head. “No, nothing of the kind. This is just a courtesy call.”

Then his warm black eyes slid from Jonathan to Alex, who had both arms around his uncle’s neck in an uncharacteristic display of shyness.

“Hello, Alexander. You don’t remember me, I don’t think. I’m Ardeth Bay, and I’m very pleased to see you.”

Alex’s only answer was to bury his face into his uncle’s shirt. Jonathan shrugged with the one shoulder available.

“Don’t take it personally, he’s a lot more outgoing when he’s had time to adjust to people. Alex, my boy,” he added, “you’re starting to get a tad heavy for your old uncle. Mind if I put you down for a bit?”

“No!” Alex leaned back and stared at him with a pout. Jonathan stared right back, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ll be taking this to mean you _don’t_ mind, then, shall I?”

The pout was suddenly a little less firm. “…No?”

“It’s like this, partner – either I put you down right now or my arms fall off. I don’t have your dad’s shoulders, don’t you know.” Alex grumbled a bit, but thankfully detached his arms from his neck when Jonathan deposited him on the mat, relieved. His arms really did feel about to fall off, and Alex’s small body against his chest had been a veritable furnace. “D’you want to say hello to Ardeth? He’s a good friend, you know.”

“’Lo,” Alex muttered. Jonathan shook his head.

“Now where’s the chatterbox I know and love? You didn’t eat him, did you?” he asked, crouching to squint at the boy. Alex let out a reluctant giggle, then clamped his hands over his mouth. “Thought so. Spit out my nephew this instant, you don’t know where he’s been.”

Alex snorted through his hands, and Jonathan stood up, satisfied. Something popped in his back when he was fully upright again. Alex really was getting a little too heavy to carry a long time.

“He has grown up a lot since I saw him last,” Ardeth remarked thoughtfully. Jonathan nodded.

“I’ll say. How old was he then, eighteen months? He was barely walking. Now it’s all we can do to keep up with the little fellow.” Jonathan glanced down at Alex, who was inspecting the maps on the table – or trying to, since the top of his blond head barely reached them – then back at Ardeth. “How many nephews do you have again?”

“Two,” said Ardeth with a smile, “and three nieces.”

“Good heavens. How do you not have grey hair yet?”

Ardeth raised an eyebrow. “How do _you_? One nephew can be enough.”

“Give it time, old boy, give it time. I shudder to think of the state we’ll all be in if he ever gets a little sibling.”

Evy was only half-jokingly considering putting Alex on a leash after he escaped supervision and almost ran into traffic twice in one week. The way things were going, it wouldn’t be surprising if all three of them got grey hair before the boy finished his first decade of life.

“How are Evelyn and O’Connell?”

“Same old, same old, as disgustingly in love as ever. You’d think having a small child and an engrossing job would get them to keep their hands off each other sometimes, but no such luck.”

This got a chuckle, which made Jonathan grin and ask, “How’s the wife, by the way?”

Ineni, Ardeth’s wife, was a tall woman with sharp features, rich dark brown skin, and long almond-shaped eyes that seemed to be always twinkling. She got on very well with Evy, who liked her equanimity and her love of lore, and, perhaps surprisingly, with Jonathan as well, who liked the fact that her sense of humour balanced Ardeth’s – when he bothered to air it, that is. The man was often so serious one might be forgiven for thinking he had no sense of humour whatsoever.

Oddly, Ardeth seemed to hesitate for a second before replying, “Ineni is well, thank you. She sends her love.”

“Couldn’t come, eh? That’s a shame. You know, one of these days you two should take a holiday and come visit merry old London. We could show you the sights. I don’t think swords are allowed on double-deckers, but…”

Something – what exactly, Jonathan wasn’t certain – inserted itself into his train of thoughts, like a wedge, and his voice trailed off. He stopped talking altogether, puzzled, and automatically looked around the tent to check on Alex…

Only to find that the boy was gone.

Jonathan’s mouth dropped open. The ‘something’ abruptly crystallised into icy dread.

“Alex?” he called, doing his best to sound normal and not like a rabbit who’d just been stepped on. His best, he found, wasn’t very effective. “Ardeth, did you see where he—?”

Ardeth had looked a little confused for a second until his mind did a similar equation and came up with the same result Jonathan’s had.

“No,” he said, and in other circumstances Jonathan might have marvelled at the way his eyes went round and his face spelled out the same kind of budding panic _he_ felt. “I wasn’t watching him. Are you sure he’s not—?”

“Yes of course I’m sure!”

The tent wasn’t that large; in five seconds Jonathan had exhausted all possible hiding places for a three-year-old. He bolted out into the mid-morning sun, eyes straining to catch any movement at all and sort out which might be his nephew.

The dig site sprawled in front of him, an open-air ant colony full of sunlight, ancient stones, and people, none of which the one tiny human he was looking for.

 _You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you?_ Evy had told him more than asked, to which Jonathan had replied with a little more confidence than he felt, _Of course I will. What sort of uncle do you take me for?_

Perhaps the question bore asking a little more than he thought…

“Oh God,” Jonathan moaned. “I’ve lost him. The one thing I swore I’d never do and I’ve gone and lost him. How does one even lose a two-stone child?”

“Never mind that,” came Ardeth’s sharp voice, snapping him out of his self-pity. “We just have to find him. He can’t have gone that far.”

Gone was the genial if quiet fellow with the slight smile; in his place stood the Ardeth of old, the grim-faced warrior on a sacred mission. For some reason Jonathan found this reassuring. He had first-hand knowledge of how valuable an ally the Medjai could be in the more… extreme kinds of situations.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

“You’re right, you’re right. He’s just one little kid… with tiny legs… Good God, what if he falls into one of these trenches they’re digging along the walls over there?” he wailed. Naturally, his brain helpfully provided him with an image which made him physically sick to his stomach. _That is_ not _helping!_ he thought as forcefully as he could, rubbing his eyes in the vain hope of getting rid of the mental picture.

“Jonathan.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not helping.”

“Of course, I know that,” Jonathan snapped as he strode out of the tent, hopefully in a direction a three-year-old would find interesting. “But it’s not something I can help, is it? Anything could happen to him! He could fall, he could cut himself, he could get sunstroke – he’s always taking off his hat, the damn thing never stays on his head for more than ten seconds – I bet this bloody necropolis is crawling with snakes and scorpions, too, let’s not forget those—”

“ _Stop_.”

Ardeth’s voice had that iron ring to it which only came out when he was giving urgent orders to his men. It reverberated through Jonathan the way his old captain’s voice used to, a decade ago, when someone had been about to step on a mine or a half-buried live shell. Instinctively he froze, one foot still in the air, precariously balancing on his other foot, searching for the hidden threat.

“What?!”

“Look.”

Ardeth was pointing down at something about two inches from his right foot. Jonathan stumbled back and examined it.

A tiny footprint in the sand. Followed by another.

“The wind will erase them soon,” said Ardeth, “but at least they can give us a direction.”

Jonathan let out a long, drawn-out breath.

“Fantastic. Jolly good show. I’ll be right behind you, then.”

Ardeth frowned at him.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you’re the expert tracker here, aren’t you?”

“I really am not,” muttered Ardeth, going back to the footprints and following them down the path that led to the busiest area of the necropolis. “Anybody might have spotted those prints.”

“Yes, and anybody else might have stepped on them. Anybody still might, for that matter.”

Ardeth gave him a look between curious and exasperated, and Jonathan tried to curb his pessimism. After all, Alex had been his responsibility, not Ardeth’s, but the fellow still offered his help, apparently without even thinking about it. Antagonising him would not just be rude, it would be quite idiotic.

“Sorry for assuming things, old boy,” he said after a short silence. “I just thought that, of the two of us, you’d be the one with the most experience in tracking people. Or children, as it were.”

The look Ardeth gave him this time, though still tense, was almost exempt of irritation. It was even a little thoughtful.

“I’m a warrior, first and foremost. If I need to track someone – or something – I rely on experts. But,” he added with the hint of a smile, “I do have _some_ experience looking for my nieces and nephews.”

Jonathan squinted at him. “Do you mean ‘looking after’ your nieces and nephews?”

“No, ‘for’. They like playing hide and seek.”

The mental picture of Ardeth – dour, dignified, serious Ardeth – playing hide and seek with children Jonathan imagined to be no older than ten made him smile. And then something else occurred to him, and he groaned.

“Oh, God. It’s bad enough that Alex likes to disappear just because he gets curious. I’m not looking forward to him disappearing because he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Does he run away a lot, then?” Ardeth asked curiously. Jonathan nodded with a solemn sigh.

“Like I said, he’s curious. Takes after his mum, God help us. Evy was the same, really, except in the end she could usually be found in the library or in front of an interesting-looking bas-relief.”

It appeared Jonathan was not the only one who got entertaining mental pictures. Ardeth actually smiled.

“I have no trouble believing that. I take it _you_ were not a curious child, then?”

“Oh, believe me, I was. The difference is, I’m the eldest, so no-one else remembers all the silly things I did as a boy. No-one alive, anyway.”

Jonathan’s mind caught up with his words a second after they left his mouth, which meant he could finish his sentence without his voice trailing off.

Grief was a sneaky bastard, he knew, the sort that could leave a fellow alone for months or even years until it tapped him on the shoulder one day, said “Remember me?” and stabbed him through and through with something that felt like a long, icy knife. He hadn’t felt that knife in a while.

 _Pull yourself together, old boy_ , he told himself as sternly as he could, _it’s been a decade_.

…All right, nine years. Well, eight years and six months. And three days. Point was, quite long enough that a grown man shouldn’t make a fool of himself because his mother and father happened to die before their time.

Jonathan released a shaky breath, cleared his throat, and avoided Ardeth’s eyes until he was certain the expression in his wouldn’t betray him.

Of course, since the man was anything but stupid, there was something solemn in the gaze Jonathan caught as he finally glanced his way again. It was somewhat tempting to ask him if his parents were still alive; after all, Jonathan, Evy and Rick knew precious little about Ardeth Bay and his family, or even general Medjai customs. But even here, in the middle of the desert, and no matter how much Jonathan usually liked to trample them into the sand, etiquette rules prohibited personal questions unless such information was freely offered. Ardeth having previously mentioned being married and an uncle had been all they had known about his private life before they had meet Ineni, who was a little more liberal with personal details.

Besides, in the event that Ardeth’s parents were in fact dead, the last thing Jonathan wanted to do was make things more awkward, knowing first-hand how sharp old grief could prove.

They silently approached a man sitting on the ground, surrounded by what appeared to be crockery, intent on cleaning up a piece of ancient earthenware.

“Um,” said Jonathan, “excuse me. Did you happen to see a child? Blond, blue-eyed, yea high, probably was not wearing a hat.”

 _Evy is going to kill me on that account alone if we don’t find him soon_.

The man gave a start and glowered up at Jonathan.

“If I saw a child?” he yelled in Arabic. “Yes, I did see a child! He picked up this pot and almost dropped it. Do you know how old this pot is? How valuable!? Snotty brats running wild, almost breaking priceless artefacts, what kind of a dig site is this—”

“Did you see where he went?” Ardeth interrupted him shortly, also in Arabic. The man’s glare went from Jonathan to him, and his anger visibly went down a notch or two, replaced with wariness.

“Yes,” he answered after an awkward silence. “That way, towards the Osireion1. I figured someone was looking after him, so I didn’t really pay attention.”

Ardeth thanked him and strode in the new direction, practically towing Jonathan, whose legs had just decided it was the right moment to start wobbling. The Osireion, unlike most temples, had been built much lower than the other buildings, and as such was being excavated rather than just cleaned up. If Alex took a wrong step…

“Did you understand what he said?”

“Most of it,” wheezed Jonathan. “The next time I’m carrying the lad I swear my arms will fall off before I put him down. There are pits over there, for God’s sake, and – and trenches, and holes full of stagnant water in this season…”

Just for a second, the words ‘pits’, ‘trenches’, and ‘holes full of stagnant water’ dredged up bad memories, over a decade old, and he froze. Ardeth, still walking briskly towards the temple, didn’t appear to notice. Jonathan had to run a little to catch up with him.

“ALEX!” he yelled, praying the boy was within earshot and his parents weren’t. “Where are you?”

“Yāh! Do you search for a little child?” someone called out in English with a fairly heavy accent. Jonathan and Ardeth whirled round as one.

One of the foremen was waving, trying to get their attention. The two of them ran up to him and reached him in a dead heat.

“Where did you see him?” Jonathan panted. “Is he all right?”

The man squinted at him and Ardeth. Then, without a word, he jerked his chin in the direction of a rudimentary tent shielding a couple of camels from the sun.

Between the camels, sitting cross-legged on the sand with a biscuit and making cheerful one-sided conversation, was Alex.

“…but then _I_ have fingers, so I can pick things up and not eat them – broc’li, you know, they’re yucky. Carrots are okay, only Mummy doesn’t like it when I saw ‘okay’, but Daddy says it except he doesn’t really like carrots? Carrots are fun to crunch, though, ‘cause I have teeth – see? How many teeth do you have?”

Jonathan leant forwards with his hands on his wobbly knees, panting, and sent a quick silent prayer of gratitude to anyone who might be listening.

“ _Alex_ ,” he gasped. “You—why— _where_ —”

“Hi, Uncle Jon!” said Alex with a grin, waving. “These camels don’t bite!”

One of the camels chose that precise moment to sniff lazily the half-eaten biscuit in Alex’s hand and drew back its lips. Jonathan’s heart, already going a mile a minute from the run and the fright, skipped a beat. In the space of a second he had rushed over to the boy and picked him up.

“Get your own biscuit,” he snapped at the camel, “and leave my nephew’s fingers alone.”

Then he heaved a sigh almost as heavy as Alex and wrapped his squirming nephew into a tight hug.

“Put me down, Uncle Jon!” protested Alex. “I don’t wanna hug! I wanna see the camel again.”

Jonathan ignored his request and shifted him back to peer at him.

“Are you all right? Did you get bitten, stung, scratched? Where’s your hat gone?” He transferred Alex to one arm as he used his other hand to check him and his clothes for any damages. When his fingers hit a ticklish spot Alex squirmed again with a giggle.

“You’re silly.”

“And _you_ are in a world of trouble, partner. Why on Earth did you run off?”

Alex’s grin was a milk teeth version of his father’s when Rick _really_ smiled, and an unholy mix of triumphant and utterly disarming.

“I saw a bird!”

Jonathan’s mouth fell open.

“…A bird.”

“Yes.”

“And _that’s_ why you ran off.”

“Yes!”

“But…” Jonathan stared at the boy in his arms. “But there’s plenty of birds at home and you don’t disappear each time you see a bally sparrow!”

… _Oh Lord, I hope I haven’t given him ideas_.

Alex shook his head vehemently, still grinning.

“Can I – Uncle Jon, can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” Jonathan replied distractedly. Alex put his arms around his neck, his eyes shining like he’d just had the best idea in the history of bright ideas.

“It was,” he said in Jonathan’s ear, his voice a little too loud to sound properly conspiratorial, “a _desert_ bird!”

He leant back, staring expectantly at his uncle with the same beaming smile.

Jonathan, too frazzled and knackered to do anything else, stared back a few long seconds. Then he gave a small smile.

“So you saw a camel _and_ a bird, eh? Sounds like quite the adventure.”

“That’s not all,” came a voice on his left. He’d completely forgotten Ardeth, Jonathan realised with a twinge of guilt. “Apparently, he also peeked into a well in search of water, disturbed the foreman’s tools, and then forgot to say ‘thank you’ when he was given a biscuit.”

“Thank you,” said Alex immediately in the prim and polite tone Jonathan _knew_ he had picked up from Evy. Ardeth smiled slightly.

“Not to me, Alexander, to _him_. He was the one who gave you the biscuit.”

The foreman, who had been talking with Ardeth, stared at Alex impassibly, arms folded across his chest. Alex wriggled closer to his uncle, looking intimidated.

“Thank you,” he said more uncertainly.

The foreman stared a little more, then gave a solemn nod.

“Do not look in wells, little boy,” he said gravely. “There is danger there.”

“But I’m _careful_.”

“He always says that,” said Jonathan to the foreman in Arabic, “generally just before he does something really stupid. Thank you so much for finding him.”

The foreman looked taken aback for a second. That was a common enough reaction on the occasion that Jonathan got his Arabic sentences right. The accent threw people. For all that his mother had lived most of the second half of her life away from Egypt, she had retained her Cairene accent, which Jonathan had inherited and held on to. As long as he didn’t make glaring mistakes – which happened often, admittedly – people’s faces at hearing a pasty blue-eyed Englishman speak Arabic with the kind of lilt one might find among the middle class of Downtown Cairo always had some entertainment value.

“If I were you,” said the foreman in Arabic after a ‘you’re welcome’ nod, “I’d keep an eye on that child. Kids his age can be reckless, but he looks utterly fearless.”

“Don’t I know it. Unfortunately he can be…”

Dammit, what was a good word for ‘sneaky’? _Muḵādeʿ 2_ meant ‘dishonest’, but that didn’t describe Alex at all. Jonathan was dishonest; Alex was just slippery as an eel and blithely ignored the adults’ opinions on where he should be and what he should (or shouldn’t) do.

Ardeth seemed to infer what Jonathan meant and picked up where he left off, thank goodness. “He can be very stealthy.”

He looked stone-faced and imperturbable, as usual, but his voice had something strange about it, slightly off, as though strained.

The foreman nodded again and went back to his duties after a last pointed look at Alex, who responded by throwing his arms around his uncle’s neck again, generously sprinkling biscuit crumbs into his shirt collar.

Despite what he had told Ardeth earlier, Jonathan gently put Alex down with a groan. The boy really _was_ getting heavy. However, in deference to the fright he’d just had, he reached down to grab Alex’s free hand in his. Alex ducked in order to keep both hands on his biscuit, but this time Jonathan was adamant to not let go of him.

“ _Hand_ , please.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“And what did your mum say yesterday when you didn’t want to hold _her_ hand?”

Alex grumbled something inaudible and slipped his tiny, sticky hand into his uncle’s.

“Good show.”

As they made their way back to the tent at a much more leisurely pace than the earlier frantic search, Jonathan gave Ardeth a sideways glance.

“What’s the matter with you? We found Alex safe and sound, which means Evy and Rick won’t kill me immediately, only when he inevitably mentions his little escapade. There’s a good chance you’ll be gone by that point, though.”

Ardeth’s lips twitched briefly, but something in his expression remained just on the cheerful side of grim.

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Well, lucky you. What _are_ you worried about, then?”

Ardeth hesitated.

Jonathan stared at him. Ardeth _never_ hesitated.

“I was thinking,” said Ardeth after a few seconds’ silence, “about children.”

“One particular specimen or children in general?”

“Yes.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“So you can be cryptic when the world is not at stake as well. Good to know.”

“What was cryptic about ‘Leave this place or die’?”

“Want a list?”

Answer came in the form of a mildly exasperated look. Then, uncharacteristically, a little more hesitation before Ardeth seemed to come to a decision.

“The reason Ineni couldn’t come is because she’s eight months pregnant and the doctor said she should avoid riding.”

Jonathan couldn’t help a large smile.

“Well, I believe congratulations are in order, old boy! Too bad I don’t have cigars. It’s a little early for that, I suppose, but I’ll be sure to bring some next time.”

The remark seemed to baffle Ardeth out of his uncertainty. “Why do you want to smoke cigars? I don’t think I’ve seen you smoke a cigarette.”

“I do have the occasional smoke, but in this case cigars are a tradition in Old Blighty after a birth. The men of the house usually retire to the smoking room while the lady does all the work, and when said work is done the father hands out cigars. Presumably it makes him feel like he did _something_ other than help start the whole thing.”

“The father isn’t present when his child is born?” asked Ardeth, one eyebrow raised. Jonathan shrugged.

“It’s all supposed to be very much women’s business. Tradition, you know. Of course Evy said tradition could go hang and insisted on having Rick be there when Alex was born. The midwife almost had a fit.” So had Rick, come to think of it. But from the look on his face when Jonathan had finally been allowed into the room to check his sister had survived the ordeal and meet his new nephew, it had all been worth it in the end.

Ardeth nodded.

“Among the Medjai, fathers are usually present for a birth. That way, if… something goes wrong, they can still see their child. Or say goodbye to their wife.”

The second sentence cast something of a pall on the conversation. Jonathan swallowed.

Alex had been a healthy baby, but his birth had been difficult for Evy. Despite his earlier remark to Ardeth about the prospect of the boy getting a little sibling, Jonathan was fairly sure the chance was slim to none.

Unconsciously his hand tightened around his nephew’s.

“Is that the reason for your, um… Is that why you were worried?”

Ardeth shook his head. “No. Not entirely, at least. But…” He glanced down at Alex, who kept trotting besides his uncle, eyes darting everywhere. “My experience with children is being an uncle, not a parent. What if…”

This was the most Jonathan had ever heard him falter. There was something disturbing about it, as though he was watching Evy have no idea which section of the Dewey classification a book belonged to.

“What if I’m not ready to be a father?” Ardeth finally asked, sounding like he wasn’t asking Jonathan so much as simply thinking out loud. “If I can fail to notice a child just disappeared under my nose, what does it say about my ability to keep track of children of my own?”

Jonathan blinked at him, rather stunned.

Ardeth voicing any concern of a personal nature was unusual enough. Doing so to _him_ , Jonathan, and not to Rick or Evy, was even stranger, and, to tell the truth, almost unnerving. Ardeth was solid certainty, as unwavering as a rock planted deep into the sand; when that certainty met with the unknown, the rock became wind and went around the obstacle. Ardeth was adaptable, quick to think on his feet, and unafraid of change.

To be fair, and despite the fact that the very last thing Jonathan saw himself as was a parent, even from an outsider’s perspective having a child _was_ an enormous change.

“I suspect,” he said slowly, “that it’s just not the same when they’re your own. Goodness knows Evy was never very keen on children, especially babies or toddlers, until this one came along. Or a little bit before that. Believe me, those two _wanted_ Alex to happen.”

Ardeth’s small smile was lightning-quick, but definitely flitted across his face.

“But _they_ were ready.”

“Good Lord, no. Absolutely not. I think they completely forgot the practical applications of this concept called ‘sleep’ for about a year and a half, for one. You see, this little gentleman here took a long time to learn to sleep through the night.”

Before Alex graduated from baby to toddler – with all the independence that implied, including moving about on his own and being able to express himself with actual words – Jonathan had been very happy that his old room was across the wing from the nursery. It was good to know, on the occasional night he spent at the house, that if Alex started to shriek (or coo, or chatter – the boy was a menagerie all to himself) at four in the morning it was someone else’s responsibility to see to him. The perks of being an uncle, he had found.

Ardeth was silent a few seconds, looking thoughtful. In the hush, Jonathan felt Alex start to lag behind a little and glanced down at him.

“All right there, partner?”

“I’m not sleepy,” muttered Alex, rubbing his eyes with his fists. Jonathan exchanged a long-suffering look with Ardeth, uncle to uncle.

“I didn’t say you were. Think you might be getting a mite tired, though.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sleepy.”

“So I suppose your usual post-morning-snack nap is out of the question?”

“No nap!”

“That’s a shame, _I_ could do with a kip. Oops, steady there.”

Alex had tripped over a rock; only Jonathan hauling him up by the hand kept him on his feet. When he landed, he squinted up at his uncle. His blue eyes were large enough that even the mid-morning sun couldn’t keep them closed.

“Uncle Jon,” he whined, “I’m not sleepy.”

“Yes, you did mention something to that effect.”

“But I wanna go up.”

“That’s funny, I think there’s a word missing in there…”

Alex made a face.

“Please?”

“Splendid. C’mere.”

Alex hardly needed the invitation. The second Jonathan crouched down, the boy wrapped himself around him like an improbable mix of limpet and octopus. He felt a lot less twitchy and energetic than he had been earlier, a clear sign that he _was_ sleepy, or at the very least tired.

Jonathan looked down at the small hand loosely grasping the fabric of his shirt and at the bright blue eyes, now half-closed, and shook his head. It was nigh on impossible to stay cross with that child too long. Even when he misbehaved in the worst way – and Jonathan was well-placed to know there were _always_ worst ways for a little boy to misbehave – he was just too darn cute to reprimand seriously.

Good thing that wasn’t his job. He was only an uncle, after all – although apparently not a very good one.

“Chances are he’ll be asleep in two minutes,” said Ardeth quietly, a smile in his voice. Jonathan suppressed a chuckle.

“Maybe even less. He did have himself quite an adventure this morning. He saw a desert bird, don’t you know.”

Ardeth nodded with a knowing smile.

“My nephew Nehi accompanied us to Cairo two years ago to see the new museum curator. I don’t think he stopped talking and pointing at things from the minute we reached the first houses.”

“How old was he then?”

“Five. You’ll want to watch that one when he reaches that age.”

“Oh, _joy_. Watching him _now_ is hard enough, for Christ’s sake – you’ve seen how slippery he is!” Jonathan made a mock grimace of fear and glanced down at Alex, who sure enough was now sleeping soundly. “Well. Not right now, probably. Look at him – you’d never guess how close he’s come to giving two grown men heart attacks.”

“Children are good at that,” Ardeth philosophised. “But they’re also good at a lot of other things, _alhamdulillah_ 3. You don’t see yourself having one of your own, one day?”

They were almost at the tent, and the urge to sit down – putting down Alex was out of the question this time– was getting more pressing by the second, but Jonathan stopped in his tracks and stared at him, alarmed.

“Good God, no. The very thought. I don’t know who would be more miserable, the poor mite or me.” He drew one of the folding chairs next to another and finally sank into one, not too abruptly to avoid waking Alex, who still clung to him. His bones seemed to rattle when he settled against the backrest.

Ardeth gave something between a chuckle and a snigger.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not. Being an uncle is the limit of my meagre abilities. I don’t think I’ll ever want children, and children have to be wanted to be happy.”

He and Evy both had been wanted, Jonathan knew. So much so, in fact, that in his case there’d been a bit of gossip about whether he’d been the main reason for his parents’ marriage. Adults usually made a point of sending children away before they talked of such things, but that little rumour had followed him for most of his childhood nonetheless.

In hindsight, maybe it _had_ been a factor, but the only thing it had changed was the timing. Nothing could have stopped Salwa al-Masri and John Carnahan from loving each other, officially or not.

Evy took a lot after their parents in that respect.

Jonathan smiled down at Alex, then looked back up at Ardeth with utmost sincerity.

“Tell me something – did you and Ineni _want_ that child?”

Ardeth appeared taken aback – not that Jonathan could blame him, as he conceded to being serious about as much as Ardeth conceded to laughing out loud – but replied firmly, “Yes.”

“Then what is there to be worried about? You’ll both love the kid to pieces and I’ll bet you anything your nieces and nephews will be happy to get another cousin.”

Ardeth squinted at him.

“Are you seriously trying to impart wisdom?”

“I am a fount of wisdom, I’ll have you know. Generally I just need a glass of Scotch or two first.” Well, he was a fount of _something_ , anyway. Evy always said he talked her ear off when he was three sheets to the wind. Thank goodness he usually toppled over before he got truly quiet. Quiet drunk Jonathan was not a fun drunk at all.

The look Ardeth gave him told him exactly what he thought of that boast, but his eyes twinkled.

“I am not gambling with you again,” he said, and Jonathan knew him well enough by now to spot the slight smile that did not quite show on his face. “Once was enough. I should have listened to O’Connell.”

“Just because that camel race was rigged doesn’t mean they all are, old boy. And Rick can talk – the last time he made a bet, Evy won five hundred dollars.”

A soft sound, like a newborn cat, interrupted the conversation. The grip on his shirt tightened as Alex burrowed against him, frowning a little. Nightmares, probably.

Jonathan let his hand hover over the back of his head, not quite sure what to do. Should he wake up Alex? Let him sleep on? Stroke his back like he’d seen Evy do sometimes, almost absently? The sun was a couple of hours from its zenith, sending the temperatures climbing; Alex’s shirt clung to his back and his neck was drenched in sweat, curling his hair a little. Surely a hug in those conditions couldn’t be too pleasant –

“Put a finger or two near his hand,” came Ardeth’s voice, “and when he takes them, rub your thumb over the back of his hand. Gently.”

Jonathan threw him a curious look, but did as instructed. It didn’t take much prodding for Alex to grab his index and middle finger. Even asleep, the boy liked to clutch at whatever passed by near enough.

To his surprise, after a little while, Alex’s features slackened, his body relaxed, and he seemed to be sleeping peacefully again. Jonathan turned back to Ardeth with an appreciative nod.

“I say, that’s a neat trick. How did you know that would work?”

“I didn’t,” said Ardeth with the kind of soft smile that only seemed to come out in the presence of children. “But experience has taught me it takes little to soothe a child sometimes.” He paused. “You seem to be doing fine as an uncle, you know. No need to worry on that account.”

“Thank you,” said Jonathan in a rare flash of open sincerity. The reassurance hadn’t felt necessary until he’d actually heard it. Evy and Rick hadn’t been given the book on correct parenting, but at least they could fall back on memories of their parents, some more distant than others. Jonathan didn’t even have the blueprint of basic uncling. How did one talk to one’s infant then toddler nephew, he had no idea, so he tended to talk to Alex as he would an adult, mostly. Minus some words Evy disapproved of which Alex, unfortunately, found irresistible.

He was fairly sure that uncles weren’t supposed to lose their nephews, though. _That_ little lesson would stay learned.

Well. At least they’d found Alex again quickly, and no harm had been done. The boy had had a biscuit and a little stroll while his uncle and Ardeth had a fright and an unexpected heart to heart, and now he was sprawled on Jonathan’s chest, twitching a little in his sleep sometimes – not a bad way to end an adventure. Even if the small body felt like a boiling water bottle in the blistering heat.

Alex tightened his hold on his uncle’s fingers, and Jonathan couldn’t help a smile. That boy was absurdly sweet.

“So,” he said to Ardeth in a low voice, “what’s the worst trick your nephews ever played on you? If I want to do this uncle thing right I’d better be prepared.”

Ardeth gave a silent laugh and shook his head.

“The worst my nephews have done so far is unhooking my saddle straps just before I mounted my horse. But… Did Ineni ever mention what my niece Kiya did when she was told to take care of her sister’s donkey for the afternoon? I know she likes telling that story.”

The anecdote sounded highly intriguing. Jonathan made himself comfortable in his chair and smirked.

“You know, I don’t believe she did.”

“All right. Well, I was giving Kiya’s sister Jamilah a riding lesson one day…”

Ardeth talked, Alex slept, and Jonathan listened, suppressing a laugh every now and then.

* * *

When some time later Evy made her way back to the tent to get a few maps and check on her son, she greeted Ardeth warmly and asked, “Everything all right? I trust everybody behaved?”

“Mummy, Mummy,” exclaimed Alex, who had woken up in the meantime. “I saw a desert bird and then I chased it to the big holes but he flew away. Then the scary man gave me a biscuit and I said ‘thank you’, and then Uncle Jon yelled at a camel, and I wasn’t even tired, and did you know camels bite?”

Evy withstood the onslaught of words with remarkable patience – hard-earned patience, Jonathan knew – and when Alex stopped to get his breath back she aimed her eyes at Jonathan like one might a rifle and _squinted_.

 _Not fair_ , thought Jonathan. I _taught her that squint, for God’s sake_.

Still, he barely refrained from squirming, and looked to Ardeth for help – to no avail. For the second time in their almost four years of acquaintance, Ardeth appeared uncertain.

The thing about being an uncle was that you had to remember to bow to higher authority, namely The Mum. Especially when the mum in question was Evy. And this even if the uncle in question was a Medjai chieftain, apparently.

Jonathan’s gaze went back and forth from his beaming nephew to his friend before settling on his sister. There was only one thing to do, then.

He took a deep breath, looked Evy in the eye, and tried to look as reasonable as possible.

“Evy, old mum – I can explain everything.”

THE END

* * *

1Also spelled ‘Osireon’; one of the temples at Abydos, a cenotaph (tomb without a body) for Seti 1st, who as a deceased pharaoh symbolically plays the role of Osiris there.

2(مخادع), “dishonest”, Egyptian Arabic

3(اَلْحَمْدُ لِلّٰهِ), al-ḥamdu li-llāhi, literally “praise [be] to God”.

**Author's Note:**

> :D …look, they’re all disasters – bookshelves-toppling disasters, screaming-and-shooting-at-sand disasters, snarking-sticky-fingered disasters, putting-on-random-priceless-artefacts-because-they-look-cool disasters – and I love them dearly for it. Only Ardeth isn’t quite one. (unless you count laughing his head off and having the time of his life strapped to the wing of a plane.) And I love him no less for it.
> 
> I created Ineni (and Ardeth’s and her children Maira and Sabni) for _[Fairy Tales and Hokum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379715)_ , in which they’re tertiary characters. If you’re curious and haven’t read it, go ahead and tell me what you think!


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